


Best Laid Plans

by DizzyRedhead



Series: 600 Follower Giveaway [2]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Bitty is the wine aunt, Hurt/Comfort, Jack is the mom friend, M/M, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-01
Updated: 2017-02-01
Packaged: 2018-09-21 06:57:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9536915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DizzyRedhead/pseuds/DizzyRedhead
Summary: Jack and Bitty have the whole weekend to spend together; it doesn't quite go as planned.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dellastreet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dellastreet/gifts).



> Another fic from my 600 Follower Giveaway on Tumblr! The prompt was " I would love a zimbits sick fic (I crave h/c) especially if Bitty is determined to fake being well and Jack is slightly clueless in taking care of him." I hope this is what you were wanting!

Bitty unlocks the door of Jack’s apartment and drops his bag on the floor just inside. The door closes behind him and he sighs, savoring the cool dimness after the bright sunlight, cold air, and constant noise of his ride over.

Jack won’t be back for another couple of hours; Bitty had planned to use that time to bake something special, or maybe get a head start on dinner, but the couch is calling him, with its soft fabric and horizontal surface and the fact that it’s almost certainly not covered in various bodily fluids like the nasty green thing back at the Haus.  _ Just a few minutes won’t hurt, _ Bitty reasons as he moves toward the couch, drawn in by its siren song. 

Jack has a soft, plush blanket with the Falconers logo draped over the back of the couch, and Bitty pulls it gratefully over himself as he snuggles into the cushions. His body aches, but that’s probably just from morning practice.  _ Just a few minutes _ , he promises himself.  _ I’ll get up and get started in a few minutes _ .

* * *

Jack practically bounds across the space between the elevator and his apartment door, impatient with the amount of time it takes him to fit the key into the lock. Anticipation has been zinging through his veins every since he turned his phone on after practice and saw Bitty’s text that he’d made it to Providence. They have a miraculous two uninterrupted days together to look forward to and Jack doesn’t intend to waste any of it.

He pulls open the door, expecting light and music and probably the smells of something delicious baking, Bitty moving around the kitchen with his usual economy of motion. But his apartment appears much as it always does, dim, with only the light seeping around the edges of the blinds and curtains to illuminate the space.

For one endless, frantic minute, his mind starts racing with all of the possible disasters that could have befallen Bitty between the train station and his building. Before he can go too far down that path, however, he bumps his foot against a familiar bag just inside the door, and a familiar incoherent mumble rises from the couch.

“Bits?” he asks, trying not to choke on his relief as he walks toward the couch. It’s fine, Bitty’s just taking a nap. He’s  _ here,  _ he’s fine. 

“Mmmrph,” his boyfriend’s voice says. 

Jack’s close enough now to see Bitty pull the blanket over his head, and that sets off alarm bells for Jack. It’s not midterm or finals time; there’s no reason that Bitty should be pushing himself hard enough to be this tired in the early evening

“Hey, bud,” he says softly, reaching for the part of the Bitty-lump that he’s pretty sure is his shoulder. “Rough day?”

Bitty makes another grumbling noise, then starts flailing until he uncovers his head and upper body. “Jack? Time’sit?”

“Almost six,” Jack answers absently, overwhelmed by the incredible rush of fondness. He’s never going to get over what it feels like to see Bitty like this, sleep-rumpled and so completely  _ right _ in Jack’s home, in his life. He reaches out to cup Bitty’s face and jumps a little, startled. “Bits, you’re burning up.”

“I was under the blanket,” Bitty protests, but now that Jack looks closely he can see the dull flush across Bitty’s cheekbones, the paleness of the skin underneath. “I’m fine, Jack, what--”

The coughing fit that interrupts Bitty mid-sentence just cements it. “You’re sick,” Jack declares, pulling Bitty into his arms and standing up. “You should be in bed, not taking a 45-minute train ride and hauling your bags around in the cold.”

“I feel fine--” Bitty rolls his eyes at the look Jack shoots him, but he cuddles closer to avoid hitting his head on the bedroom door. “I felt fine this morning, honey, I swear. I just need a little rest and I’ll be right as rain.”

Jack sets him gently down on the bed, pulling the rumpled sheet and comforter up to his chest. “You need rest, and probably a doctor.”

Bitty pouts up at him, his arms crossed and his jaw set mulishly. “I think you’re overreacting, Mr. Zimmermann.”

If two years as teammates have taught him anything, it’s that when Bitty gets like this, logic and argument are no good. Jack turns on his heel and heads into the attached master bathroom, blessing his mother for stocking his medicine cabinet. He grabs the digital thermometer and the Tylenol 1 his parents had brought him the last time they came to visit.

It doesn’t seem possible, but Bitty’s pout deepens somehow when he sees the thermometer. “It’s not going to bite you,” Jack says, unable to restrain his laugh at the utterly disgusted look Bitty shoots him. “C’mon, bud, if you’re really not sick, I’ll let you say ‘I told you so.’”

“Fine,” Bitty mutters, snatching the thermometer out of Jack’s hand and popping it into his mouth.

He glares at Jack the entire minute until the thermometer beeps cheerfully at them, but his eyes widen when he looks down at the display. Jack nips it out of his fingers and does his best not to panic when he sees the numbers 102.4 blinking innocently up at him.

“Shit,” he breathes. His hands want to shake, but he suppresses it ruthlessly. “Maybe we should take you to a doctor, Bits.”

“No!” Bitty yelps. “No doctors, please, Jack. I’ll stay in bed, I’ll take my medicine, it’ll be fine.”

As usual, Jack’s resolve crumbles in the face of those pleading brown eyes. “Fine,” he sighs, taking the thermometer back and shaking out a couple of tablets into his hand. “But you’re taking this and I’m calling Maman.”

Bitty nods, obediently swallowing the pills with a sip from the bottle of water Jack keeps on his bedside table. A little more coaxing gets him drinking half of the remaining water, and then he nestles into the pillows, blinking sleepily as Jack hits the speed dial button for his mother’s number.

“Jack!” His mother’s voice is an almost physical relief, loosening muscles he hadn’t realized were tense. “What a lovely surprise! I didn’t expect to hear from you this weekend; I thought Eric was coming to visit.”

“He was--I mean, he is--I mean--” Jack stops, takes a breath, tries to organize his thoughts before opening his mouth. “He’s here, but he’s sick. He doesn’t want a doctor, but his fever’s really high, Maman. 102.”

He half-expects his mother to echo his own frantic state, but her voice stays calm. “That’s high, but not necessarily dangerous. Did you give him anything?”

Jack nods, then feels stupid when he realizes that of course she can’t see him. “Yes, I had some Tylenol 1.”

“Good,” his mother says briskly. “The codeine will help him sleep, and the Tylenol should bring down his fever. If it gets above 104, or if it lasts for more than three days, you take him to a doctor no matter what he says, but with rest and fluids he should be fine.”

“Okay,” Jack says, the relief washing through him like a cool wave. “I can do that.”

He can hear the smile in his mother’s voice. “I know you can, Jack. But call me if you need me, okay? Even if it’s the middle of the night.”

“I will, Maman,” he promises. Bitty’s asleep already, snoring softly like he always sleeps in Jack’s bed, and Jack wants that with an almost physical ache. “I’ll let you know how it goes.”

“ _ Je t’aime, _ ” Alicia says, her accent faint but unmistakable, even after decades of practice.

“ _ Je t’aime aussi _ ,” Jack answers. It took a long time for him to believe it again, but he has so many people who love him. 

He hangs up the phone and pulls out his laptop. By the time Bitty blinks awake again, groggy in the dim light of the bedside lamp, Jack has a plan, a medication schedule, four doctors’ phone numbers, and directions to the nearest urgent care and emergency room saved on his phone.

He can do this.

* * *

“I’m sorry,” Bitty murmurs as Jack tucks him back into bed after helping him to the bathroom.

“What for?” Jack asks, smoothing the hair back from Bitty’s (thankfully cooler) forehead.

His boyfriend smiles wanly. “I know this isn’t how we planned on spending our weekend.”

“Hey,” Jack says softly, squeezing Bitty’s hand. “I just wanted to be with you.”

The smile on Bitty’s lips as he falls asleep again might be the most beautiful thing Jack’s ever seen.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, feel free to [follow me on tumblr](dizzy-redhead.tumblr.com) for random content and even more random giveaways! I also take prompts when I'm not doing giveaways, but I have a lot on my plate right now writing-wise, so it has to really strike me. But seriously, come talk to me! I love talking about dumb hockey boys!


End file.
